The Roaming (Book 3): Haven's Promise

by Hegarty, W. J.

Radzinski remained the reigning champion of the Pit, and by December, he was only fighting a few times per week. Challenges to his title grew fewer and fewer as time wore on. He didn’t need to fight anymore, as he had a place to live and all the food and booze he could consume. He only kept with it to stay sharp.

  Sona lay beside him, sleeping atop her silken sheets. Her room showed the signs of a wild night. Empty bottles of wine and latex clothing lay scattered and strewn about. Radzinski liked the aesthetics of all the latex and leather in Frost, but he would never be caught dead in the stuff. Sona and Amaranth tried multiple times to get him to try something on, but he wouldn’t have it. He was content with his old fatigues and a T-shirt.

  Radzinski covered Sona in a light sheet before he hit the shower. Afterward, he straightened up the messy room, folded Sona’s clothes, and put them atop the dresser. Before he left for the day, he brewed her a pot of coffee she would no doubt crave when she awoke.

  He passed the throne room on his way off deck five. The area was empty, quiet. No Amaranth keeping Sona’s seat warm; even she was gone at this hour. Amaranth was funny as shit when you got to know her, and the three of them shared many a laugh in recent months. It couldn’t last, could it? A few workers cleaned the previous night’s messes, and Radzinski waved as he passed. The cleaning crew was happy to see him, and they were in good spirits; everyone that lived on deck five was.

  He was on his way to deck four and another long day of standing around looking menacing. Lady Setsuko had become more and more brazen with her demands of late. Radzinski told Sona all of it; he didn’t want to keep a thing from her, even the incident a few weeks ago when the crime boss made him fuck her servants as she watched. He wanted out of this situation badly but couldn’t for the life of him figure out how.

  As he entered Seiiki—Lady Setsuko’s domain—one of her guards held the door for him. They hadn’t grown any more trusting of the gaijin; they had merely become accustomed to his presence. They measured him long ago and found him to be no threat, though they still watched him eagle-eyed and yearned for the day that their mistress tired of him.

  Inside Lady Setsuko’s main meeting hall, the usual cadre of miscreants and degenerates was assembled. Her top lieutenants sat around the table, as did Vadim and someone else the Marine couldn’t place. To Radzinski’s surprise, a new face not often seen in Underworld was present. Todd was making his way out of the meeting as Radzinski entered. Haven’s head of security stared a hole through the Marine with laser focus. Todd bumped shoulders with Radzinski as he passed, maintaining eye contact and almost daring Radzinski to make a move.

  “Anytime you want to get in the ring, sailor boy,” Radzinski chided.

  Todd stopped dead in his tracks. “Don’t think for a second that because you’re down here where you belong and working as a lapdog for Setsuko that you’re out of my jurisdiction. This entire ship is my jurisdiction. If I give the word, you’ll be flushed with the garbage and Lady Setsuko can find another dog to lick her boots.”

  “So is that a yes? Or are you too much of a pussy to back up all that mouth?”

  Todd nodded. “Alright, you think you’re hot shit? I don’t care where you came from or who you used to be. This ship is mine. That includes the Pit. Tonight, you and me. One on one.”

  “Why wait?” Radzinski grinned. He had wanted to get his hands on Todd since the day he was locked up in de-cons.

  Todd peered around the Marine to Lady Setsuko, who simply shrugged and waved her hands with her palms up as if to signal that she didn’t care if they fought or not. “You are beginning to be more trouble than you’re worth, gaijin.”

  “I meant no disrespect.” Radzinski bowed.

  “That is to be determined.” She turned to her son as Radzinski left for the Pit. “Ken, go watch this fight. Let me know if this dog is worth the time I have invested in him. If you think he can’t handle himself when it matters, he doesn’t walk out of that ring.”

  “Understood,” Ken said with a smirk. This was his chance to finally rid his mother of this bravado-laden American fool once and for all.

  No bell was rung. No announcer greeted the crowd with witty commentary for the fighters. These were two men that hated each other to the core, and neither was here for the spectacle. Radzinski never forgot the dressing down he received from Todd only moments after boarding Haven. As for Todd, another alpha male just wouldn’t do. Radzinski would learn his place or suffer the consequences.

  Each man discarded their shirts and boots before they charged to the center of the ring. The rules still applied; no cheap shot to the balls or a kick from a heavy boot would prematurely end this fight. They locked in an embrace, each vying for dominance, but both were evenly matched forces of nature in his own right. Todd struck first with a headbutt to the bridge of Radzinski’s nose, blinding the Marine with a searing pain that made the sides of his vision go white. Radzinski followed with a knee to the security chief’s abdomen that certainly cracked or even broke a few ribs.

  They separated and as if mirror images of the other. They exchanged blows upon each other’s faces and bodies. Radzinski landed a barrage against his opponent’s side. Todd followed up with a haymaker across the side of Radzinski’s head, nearly putting him on the floor. Radzinski spun around with an elbow that would have taken the head off a lesser man, but Todd shook it off and spat out a mouthful of blood onto the mat. Radzinski worked on Todd’s ribs, one side and then the other. If his opponent couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t fight. He followed that with an uppercut that snapped Todd’s jaw shut so hard both men were sure that some teeth cracked.

  Todd landed an elbow squarely on the top of Radzinski’s head, followed by two more that caused the Marine to blink in fast succession. For a split second, Radzinski’s sight went black. He lunged at Todd, taking him to the ground as he regained his senses. Both grappled for dominance, getting their shots in where they could and blocking blows when able. They rolled around the mat, each taking turns with the upper hand. As one man thought he finally had the other at his mercy, a fast elbow or knee would turn the tide in the other’s favor.

  The crowd cheered, their voices clearly favoring the Marine. Even still, they roared ever louder for the apparent man on top. In a sense, they didn’t care; they only wanted blood. Their cries drowned out any sounds emanating from the ring as the noise grew to a fever pitch before suddenly going silent.

  Seawater choked both combatants, and for the briefest of moments, they were confused. Their struggling ceased, and in unison, they rose to their feet, prepared to fight off an unknown threat.

  Inside the ring and flanked by her guards, who brandished blunt weapons, Sona stood with a fury. She threw an empty metal bucket aside while she shouted, “That’s enough! Both of you!”

  Radzinski and Todd breathed heavily. The former was the first to break the silence. “This isn’t what it looks like, babe.”

  “This is exactly what it looks like. The both of you are trying to kill each other. I won’t have it.”

  “You’re not in charge up here,” Todd sneered.

  “Oh?” Sona stood inches from Todd’s face. Her leather- and latex-clad soldiers surrounded the fighters and the ring.

  “You just fucked up, girl. This fight was sanctioned by Lady Setsuko.”

  “Fuck Lady Setsuko. And fuck you, too. Go back above where you belong. Underworld belongs to me.”

  The crowd became fixed on Todd, and from his vantage point, it appeared as though Sona’s dozen or so guards suddenly had a small army of a couple hundred strong at their backs.

  “Alright,” Todd said through a series of nods and half-smirks. “I’ll remember this, Sona.” He eyed Radzinski, who merely shrugged. “This isn’t over.”

  “Anytime.” Radzinski spat a mouthful of blood on the floor at Todd’s feet.

  Sona’s guards held the ropes open for Todd’s benefit; he left with no fanfare. Lady Setsuko’s son and his men followed behind.

  Radzin
ski cautioned, “You know Ken will tell his mommy about this?”

  “Let him,” Sona hissed as she watched Ken disappear into the crowd.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Exile

  A cadre of familiar faces gathered in a spacious conference room near the center of deck ten. Captain Kayembe hosted the weekly meeting not far from the wheelhouse. He sat at the head of a long table; the others filled in the empty seats with no discernible rhyme or reason behind their placement. Only the heads of critical areas of the ship were in attendance.

  Miller had grown more comfortable in the preceding months, and it must have shown, because he was asked personally by the captain to attend this meeting. Now he was sporting a full beard and his dirty blond hair was just long enough that he would tuck it behind his ears. He was seated beside Kayembe; the captain thought it best to groom the man for a leadership position. When asked, Kayembe simply stated that he wanted Miller prepared should the need arise to expand the excursion teams. Kayembe had loftier motives.

  Miller knew or had at least met all of those in attendance, with the exception of a disheveled, middle-aged man in a tattered suit. The man’s face was hidden behind a salt and pepper beard, and he carried a stack of papers that he dumped on the table in front of him. Before he sat, he cleansed his hands with a bottle of sanitizer he kept squirreled away in his breast pocket.

  Michael “Mensa” Billingsly got his nickname from Haven’s staff in the earliest days of the outbreak after he offered his services to Captain Kayembe. He was a statistician, a genius for finance. Prior to the crisis, he was pulling in a high six-figure salary by crunching numbers for the Department of Defense. Now he was the mind behind Haven’s strict ration of supplies. Mensa knew exactly how much of everything the storage rooms held and how much each person was able to receive daily, down to the tablespoon of rice. The Financiers having meals to order off an actual menu and splurging at their whim infuriated the man. All that excess threw his numbers off, forcing him to constantly recalculate proportions. He detested the Elite for this, but after thirty years of working for the same selfish-minded scum back in the real world, he was used to it. Mensa did what he’d always done. He put his head down and crunched numbers because that was what he was good at, and it kept people alive.

  The department heads took turns voicing concerns from their various sections of Haven.

  Mensa led the proceedings with the same criticisms he shared as often as anyone would listen. “I feel I must again protest the continued allowance of an a-la-carte menu for the Financiers. Its mere presence puts an unnecessary strain on rations.” Mensa’s glasses were at the end of his nose. He put on a show like he was looking over the numbers, but he had them all memorized. Kayembe knew as much.

  “Here, here,” Sweet Lips added.

  “What if we pull back on their menus to once a week. Would that help?” Naomi offered. She acted as a moderator. After the meeting, she would collate the discussion points and find the most efficient way to see that everyone’s needs were met.

  “It would help,” Mensa answered in a frustrated tone. “It’s not ideal, but it will help.”

  “Hey, it’s a step in the right direction,” Sweet Lips added. “Gimme some.” He held out his hand to Mensa for a fist bump. The number cruncher awkwardly grabbed the man’s fist and shook it like a weird handshake.

  “Close enough.” Sweet Lips shrugged. “But while we’re on the subject of food,” he continued with an eye toward Cortez, “the food stores are good but could always use a topping off. You know the drill: canned goods and dry goods, man. Hoard that shit.” Sweet Lips turned to Miller. “If you come across any wild mushrooms, I’ll take as many as you can carry. I’ve got a book I’ll lend you so you can study up on what to avoid.”

  “We don’t see many mushrooms out there, but I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  “That’s all I ask, bro.”

  Cortez was up next. “The excursion teams are strong, even with Bull’s absence,” he said. “Miller’s addition was a godsend. His expertise in the field has been invaluable.”

  “Excellent.” Kayembe was pleased. “I’ve heard nothing but praise since your arrival, Mr. Miller.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Miller nodded.

  “How is Bull faring these days?”

  “Still in a coma, sir,” Cortez said with an air of sorrow.

  “And your newest member… Alex, I believe her name was?”

  “She’s solid.” Cortez nodded. “Still says she’s leaving soon, but she’s been saying that since we picked her up, so who knows?”

  Naomi spoke up. “It says here, Nazneen, that you are critically low on syringes and pain medication. Is this correct?”

  “Yes, there was a foul-up in the inventory. I thought we had ample supplies of both, but it appears I was mistaken. If the excursion teams could keep on the lookout, I would be eternally grateful.”

  Miller nodded and Cortez jotted down a reminder.

  “Is there anything else?” Naomi asked as she peered up from her own notes.

  “The infirmary is running low on plasma. If we could organize a blood drive, it could save countless lives,” Nazneen suggested.

  “Consider it done,” Naomi answered without hesitation. “I’ll have my team organize a ship-wide mandatory blood drive immediately.”

  “Thank you, Naomi.”

  Ames had a list prepared. Most aspects of mechanical existed behind the scenes, so their needs largely went ignored unless the right people were reminded frequently.

  “We could use some grease. Any kind of mechanical lubricant will do, and while we’re at it, some de-greaser would be nice, too.”

  “We’ll be sure to stop by the next auto shop we pass,” Miller insisted. “We see them everywhere.”

  “Sweet. While you’re there, look for hand tools. I’ll take anything you can haul back to the ship.”

  “Got it,” said Cortez.

  Trix stood. She was the only one who did so when addressing the room. “I’d like to add a security detail to all four bars if we can afford it.”

  “Is there anything that I should be made aware of?” the captain asked.

  “Nothing worth getting into, sir. There’s just been an uptick in bar fights. It isn’t an issue yet, but I want to get ahead of it before it becomes one.”

  Todd spoke up. “I’ll station extra personnel at each location from 7:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m.”

  “Will that suffice?” asked Naomi.

  “That’ll be great, thanks.” Trix was pleasantly surprised by the offer. She came into the meeting convinced that she would have to go over Todd’s head for the extra security.

  Naomi continued taking notes as Todd took his turn voicing his concerns. “I was going to suggest this anyway, but seeing as how I’ll be stretching my men thin with this extra bar detail, I’d like to move some of my de-cons staff up to ship security. That said, I should also begin training some of my stowage guys as de-cons replacements as soon as possible.”

  “That seems prudent. Consider it done,” said Captain Kayembe before he turned to Arnold, who was seated by his side. “Have you anything to add, old friend?”

  Arnold simply shook his head in the negative. If pressed, he would suggest pulling Catherine out of mechanical to join him in engineering, but with Ames always in a perpetual state of being short-staffed, he knew it was a moot point. She was needed elsewhere, and he could make do.

  The captain grew stern, and a tense atmosphere took the room. “Then that brings us to our final point of concern for the week,” Captain Kayembe said. “Todd has informed me that we had a breach of security last night.”

  Most of the attendees gasped.

  “It’s been dealt with,” Todd assured the room. “But this was clearly an ongoing security breach that I’m ashamed to admit was happening right under my nose.” Todd pursed his lips as if he could barely contain a rage.

  “Continue,” Captain Kayembe insisted.

 
“Jacob was caught with a dead one in his room. He was keeping it tied up in his shower. It looks like this was going on for days, if not longer.”

  Mensa squirmed in his chair, Sweet Lips grit his teeth, and Cortez merely shook his head.

  “Who was the dead one to Jacob?” Miller asked.

  “It doesn’t matter who it was!” The captain snapped back remorselessly.

  “Yeah, but if we know who it was, we can better understand why Jacob did what he did.”

  “That’s enough,” Kayembe ordered with a glare at Miller.

  “It was his son, Charles,” Todd said, “for all that it matters.”

  “I see,” said Miller.

  Todd continued. “It was disposed of. We put it down and flushed it,” he said with a nonchalance that unnerved Miller. “His room has been sanitized and prepped for new occupancy. It’s like it never happened.”

  “Bring him in,” Captain Kayembe ordered.

  The prisoner was escorted into the conference room in shackles. Prisoners—as few as there were—were given red scrubs to wear. The look differentiated them from everyone else. Jacob was a young father of no more than thirty years old. He lost his parents, his wife, and their young daughter in the earliest days of the crisis. His son, Charles, was all that he had left.

  “What do you have to say for yourself, Jacob?” Kayembe was incensed but keeping his head.

  “He was my son, and you bastards flushed him like garbage. He was just a boy, goddammit!”

  “We have rules in place for a reason, Jacob.” Captain Kayembe tapped his index finger on the conference table, all the while peering at Jacob through contempt filled eyes. “You have put the well-being of every man, woman, and child aboard this vessel at risk for your own selfish desires. I’m afraid you have left me no choice.” The captain stood up straight; he towered over Jacob but was sure to peer directly into his eyes. “For crimes against the people of Haven, including high treason and the callous disregard for the safety of your fellow man, you are to be exiled.”